


32 Hours

by cheshirecat101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe, Car Accidents, Complicated Relationships, Dark Derek, Dark Derek Hale, Dark Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Full Shift Werewolves, Highway Rest Stops, Jealous Derek, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Motels, Road Trips, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Wolfed Out Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecat101/pseuds/cheshirecat101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has to make the 32 hour trip from California to Chicago, Illinois, in order to get to his new home for the next four years. But it seems that the (super)natural world is doing everything in its power to stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	32 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea has literally been kicking around in my head since last summer, but it finally took shape during a bout of writer's block and broke me out of the mindset I was in. So here it is, and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> The playlist for this chapter can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/cheshirecat101/32-hours).

BZZZZZ. BZZZZ. BZZZZ. SKREEEEEEEEEEE

 

The emergency broadcast signal was way too loud over the radio, and with a curse, Stiles flipped the volume down, having been right in the middle of jamming out to More Than A Feeling. He would have flipped back to his awesome roadtrip playlist (all digital) but they’d been sending out emergency broadcasts for the past few hours and he needed to see what was next.

 

THIS IS A SEVERE WEATHER WARNING FOR CERTAIN UTAH COUNTIES. HERE ARE THE COUNTIES…

 

He listened carefully, closely, but no, no Richfield. Nothing along the path he was following, I-80 or any of the related roads. The radio continued listing off counties, but Stiles tuned it out, turning it down so it was a low murmur in the background. He could see the dark clouds roiling up ahead, but they weren’t tornado warnings and at most, he’d probably see some rain as he drove and if it got too heavy, there were always those delightful rest stops that sometimes even had curly fries, depending on what was offered.

It was weird. The weather, that was. The forecast for the drive had been completely clear, he’d checked every state he was driving through beforehand, but suddenly there were these big storms developing and taking over the skies, striking panic into the heart of the radio with every emergency broadcast. Not that he was concerned. They seemed to keep just missing him, and he needed to get at least half the distance done tonight to cover enough ground, those first sixteen hours of the thirty two or so hour drive. He could sleep somewhere tonight, not quite crazy enough to try driving through the night, as much as he liked late night driving. Roscoe would need a break at that point.

His phone was buzzing next to him and he picked it up from its precarious position on the dashboard, mostly held up there by prayer, checking the number before declining the call. Not right now. This wasn’t the time. Sometime later, when he was in Illinois, he would call Derek back, have that conversation, take the accusations. It wasn’t running away. He kept telling himself it wasn’t running away.

Abruptly, the emergency broadcast ended and Stiles flipped up the volume, nodding his head along as You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet came on whatever local classic rock station this was. So far he had managed to keep his sanity with the music, despite the fact that it’d been hours after hours of the same damn scenery and the same damn roads. He wanted a break. He hadn’t really eaten since breakfast and as good as that had been—so big, and his dad had gotten up super early to make it, bless his heart—his stomach was starting to rumble and he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive on the protein bars and mega cups of soda and coffee he’d been consuming instead. So. Maybe it was time to stop.

***

Roscoe rolled to a slow stop in the rest area parking lot as dusk started to fall, the whole place lit with those bright fluorescent bulbs that shone white light and made you rethink your life decisions as you saw the true face of everyone around you. He parked, idly, and shut off the car, taking a minute to just relax, sink down in his seat before stepping out of the jeep on stiff legs and stretching them one at a time. Jesus. He had so much longer to go, both today and tomorrow, and he really wasn’t sure he’d be great with that. Sitting still for hours at a time? Not his strong suit. Which was probably why he always ended up dancing and singing along to the radio like an idiot.

Another phone call that he resolutely ignored, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket before locking the car and heading into the rest stop. It was eerily quiet here, everything quieting down for the night even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock and the sun was still sinking below the horizon, though it was mostly gone by now. Those summer days, filled with nearly endless sunshine and slightly chilly nights that reminded you that winter was coming back again. Or maybe that was just how he viewed it, mind locked on the upcoming fall and his start as a freshman. He didn’t have to go to a school so far away. It wasn’t running away. It wasn’t.

Or so he could convince himself if he really tried. He ordered a meal for here and a large coffee, the biggest they sold, sliding into a booth and beginning to devour everything that he’d been neglecting for the past few hours. He’d already gone to the bathroom, so that was one check off his list, this another, and the coffee a third. It’d help him drive for a few hours more before he stopped at a motel for the night, knowing he couldn’t drive straight through. That’d be suicide. Or close enough. And he wasn’t that much of a masochist.

 

_In dreams I walk with you….in dreams I talk to you…in dreams you’re mine. All of the time we’re together, in dreams, in_ _dreams…_

The music filtered through in the back of his mind but he didn’t pay much attention to it, totally focused on his food and getting it down as much as he could, as fast as he could. He needed to get back out on the road, get back to his car and the road and the endless fucking drive. Not that he could really complain. He’d chosen this. He could have gone to school in California, no problem, probably cheaper (definitely cheaper) but he’d needed to get out, go somewhere, do _something_. And then with everything with Derek…this was just better. He needed it to be better. He needed this to be the right choice.

“Aw shit,” he muttered to himself, turning to the window and seeing the rain that had started to pour down, sheets upon sheets of it coating the asphalt and making it almost impossible to see the cars in the parking lot from here. Great. So that was another delay he hadn’t accounted for. He glanced at his watch; 8:14. So hopefully it stopped in the next sixteen minutes and he could get started again, go for another four or five hours. Make some serious progress. It didn’t seem like a lasting rain, either, just one of those short, intense bands of weather that came through occasionally, and he morosely returned to eating, pulling out his phone to check his text messages.  
A quick text to his dad to let him know where he was, another to Scott to tell him about the drive, and he didn’t even touch Derek’s name, the latest text glaring up at him in stark black print (Stiles, please talk to me. Today at 6:34pm). He didn’t need to read the rest.

He stretched languidly in the plastic booth that didn’t even have the decency to have cushions, and starting picking through his fries again, eating having slowed down somewhat. He really didn’t want to stop at a motel tonight. After that one time…well, he hadn’t exactly had good experiences with motels, had he? Still, he had to do it, because he couldn’t sleep in the car even if he wanted to. There simply wasn’t enough space, the whole thing jam-packed with his shit for school. And he didn’t want to sleep there anyway. Seemed dangerous, and he’d really already had enough dangerous in his life at eighteen years old and having stopped every supernatural disaster on the books, and some off. It was time for a break. A normal life. Or as normal as he could get right now.

What was it about rest stops that made reality feel so thin? Looking around, he realized that it was nearly empty aside from him, and he was feeling a little bit prickly at the back of his neck, under the collar of his hoodie. That old black magic feeling, the reminder that there were forces here beyond his control. But here of all places? Please god no, the supernatural couldn’t have followed him out of Beacon Hills. He needed to have some sanity left by the time he reached Chicago.

Quickly, he got up, shoving his trash in the labeled bin and taking his coffee and phone with him, putting his hood up against the rain as he headed outside again. He needed to get on the road, and luckily the rain had died down some and he could actually see Roscoe as he made his way towards the jeep. Time was awastin’, and he needed to get going. As nice as a longer break would have been, he really wasn’t feeling kosher about the rest stop, something about the place giving him the creeps. God, what if the motel was the same? Would he even be able to sleep?

Love Her Madly kicked on as he started up the car, and he started humming along a bit nervously, pulling out of the parking lot and back towards the highway. Just a few more hours to go, and then he could sleep.

***

The motel was as bad as expected, actually, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Didn’t help that (Don’t Fear) The Reaper was playing as he pulled in, but still. The parking lot was suspiciously sparse with cars, and the whole thing looked rainswept and hidden away for the safety of the public, or something.

“Bates Motel, much?” he muttered to himself as he turned off the car, looking up at the place. It didn’t look great. But it didn’t need to. He just needed to survive one night without getting murdered or dying because he fell asleep at the wheel. This would hopefully prevent both. Reluctantly, he got out of the car, taking his travel bag off the passenger seat with him, and locked the jeep, headed into the area helpfully labeled ‘Lobby’.

_What’s your name, who’s your daddy? Is he rich like me. Has he taken any time to show you what you need to live…_

 

It was dry inside, at least, and the music softly pouring from the speakers was just clear enough that he could make out the words, but soft enough that they didn’t bother him. It’d started raining again on his walk inside, and he’d jogged the last few steps, expecting to startle whoever was stuck working the late shift tonight. After all, it was nearly one in the morning, someone had to have the hell shift. But there was…no one there.

The door was unlocked. So they were open for business. And the sign outside said vacancies. So there had to be someone here, maybe they’d stepped out to get something? Or been called to a room or something? They were probably the only ones working, after all. So he just had to wait here for a little while, that was fine, despite the dread creeping uneasily up his spine and latching onto his brain. He needed to just…just…

_Dog._

No, wait. At the end of the hallway leading to the rooms available, a black, hellish dog was standing, one with bright blue eyes directed directly at him, and Stiles froze, watching the…thing as it bared its canines. No, that wasn’t a dog.

That was a wolf.

The second it growled he took off running, back out the doors to the motel and all the way back to his car, fumbling with his keys to manually unlock the door because his car was too goddamn old, and spilled into the car as soon as he was able to, all shaking muscles and tight limbs, quickly quickly quickly starting up the jeep and reversing out of the parking lot as fast as he could. He didn’t care that he pulled backwards onto the highway and had to do a three point turn to turn around, he just needed to get out get out get out get out because oh god, he knew what that meant. His phone was buzzing buzzing buzzing in his hand again and he didn’t have to look at it to know who was calling, picking up the phone with a, “Jesus Christ, Derek!”

“Willing to talk to me now?”

“No, what the fuck? Did you send Peter after me? Or fucking…I don’t know, Isaac, Jesus shitting Christ…” His breath was coming in short bursts, and he wondered if he was going to have a panic attack. If this was how he was going to die, panicking his way into an accident on the highway, though at least there wasn’t really anyone for him to get into an accident _with_ , not this late at night, this far out. Jesus fucking Christ. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You’re cute when you’re panicking, you know that?”

A chill shot through Stiles, white hot anger following on its heels. “No, no, don’t—Derek, this is fucked up,” he said, but his voice was trailing off weakly, and abruptly, he reached out to slam the off button on the radio, not willing to listen to T.N.T. right now. Needing to listen solely to Derek, as much as it pained him.

“I thought the storms could do it, Stiles. The witches assured me they’d turn anyone with half a brain back, but somehow you managed to always miss the worst of them. Must be that spark Deaton was always talking about.”

“You sent the storms,” Stiles said, feeling something cold trickle down his spine. It made perfect sense, in the worst way. Derek didn’t want him to leave, Derek had fought him every step of the way, why not fight supernaturally, too? Just when Stiles thought he was out of his reach, Derek dragged him right back in. And so goddamn easily too.

His speed was climbing as high as Roscoe would allow, and he knew it was dangerous to take slick roads this fast but right now he needed as much distance as possible. And that meant running away. Okay, so he was running away now. This time, there was a reason for it. Not that there hadn’t been in the first place.

“Are you going to talk to me, Stiles, or just try to run away?”

‘Try to’. As if he wouldn’t be successful with it, as if this was all some kind of game. Sick, Stiles felt sick and he knew all of a sudden, with acute accuracy, that he wasn’t going to be successful.

“Fuck you,” he said coldly, and hung up, tossing the phone away from himself and cranking the radio back up.

And maybe that would be the end of it. Maybe—god, hopefully—Derek would recognize his need for space and let him go and just—

And that was when a wolf leapt out into the middle of the road. 

Stile swerved, yanking the wheel to the left and right towards the grassy median, and he felt it before it happened, Roscoe tipping onto his side with the force from the wheels and the slick of the road, and he yelped as the jeep hit its left side, glass splintering and scattering over his face and body, the windshield cracking with the force of the fall and all of his things in the back shifting and rolling, some pouring forth into the front seat. Stiles’s head contacted the pavement and his vision swam, making it hard to focus as he tried to just breathe, keep himself anchored in the moment as Radar Love blasted from a radio that was stuttering, flickering in and out.

After a few moments, he became aware of something coming towards him, a pair of legs visible through the windshield, bare and naked as the day they were born, and he struggled somewhat feebly to break free of his seatbelt, climb out the other window, maybe. Instead, the windshield was wrenched off of its hinges, already damaged, and he found a familiar pair of greenish eyes looking at him as Derek bent down to see him. 

“Now can we talk?” he asked. And Stiles chose that moment to pass out.


End file.
